No tears were ever shed. Only a few times the emotional crystals have
fallen from my eyes. I remember every one of the tears and why they
fell away from me. I don't regret anything anymore. Pain is just
there to remind me that I'm still connected to this part of the
world. Sometimes I think I do need harsh reality checks to keep me
from dreaming too much. I dream of things that can never be. The
quest of reaching for dreams has left me wounded in some ways. I
don't think I dream enough anymore. I don't cry enough any more.
I want to. I want to let it all out but this barricade builds in my
throat and makes the pain of holding back more intense. I want things
to be the way I see them. They aren't. I feel disappointed.
Progression of life carries me through and soon I forget the loss. I
forget the feeling of hope for that monumental moment in life. I
don't remember the lifted feeling and dancing in wonder at the
possibilities. Life carries me forward and I forget. I become lava: I
shine very bright and warm then I fade away to stillness and nobody
would ever know that I had risen from a mountain because I could not
be contained anymore. I become everything that I had covered in my
journey from the mountain. I just wait until something covers me and
I feel better because I won't have to worry about going on
adventures. I can sit here unnoticed and be safe.

It
never works out; the progression of the world entices me to move. So
I become what I was before. The cycle continues. I chase dreams and
ideas then fade away when I find out that I could never be what I
imagine I could be. I turn away and run when I find the true reality
hiding behind every smile and every word. Is it paranoia that follows
my mind? What am I afraid of? Like always, I know the answer but I
play stupid. Sometimes I have to know though. I have to reach my
limits. I have to surpass everything that I've ever known. I burst
out of my shell and explore the world. Possibilities are everywhere.
Ideas are up in the air ready to grab hold of and make true. People
are waiting to be changed. I have to see what I can do. I just have
to know what my limits are. I always know what happens when I do
reach my limits though. The tears come and they don't stop. I just
lie still and enjoy the moment. Loud moans of pain come from my body.
I shake and shiver. It relaxes me. Limits always have drastic
effects. I know that but I have to try every time. Stupid me.

Other
people have limits. I don't care. I'm a dreamer. At times I
really feel that they can become something more than what they are. I
think too much and my dreams carry me to places that couldn't
possibly exist. Soon I'm sitting in my room again staring at the
ceiling and I've already thought up a life that adds up to five
years. My mind falls back and I'm hit hard by something concrete.
Reality can't be seen but it can be felt. When I drift off like
that and come back, reality always hits me the hardest. It makes me
sad that the world can be anything and people choose not to take part
in themselves.

I
remember my father. The earliest memory is when I was very young and
we still lived in an old trailer house. I was the second born. My
parents were just starting out on their own when I came into this
world. My brother Steve was already two years older than me. My
Grandma had bought a trailer house for my mom and dad. They moved
from the country side into the small village of Oglala. That's
where I grew up. That is where I remember my father. This is where I
want to go back to. I can't so I hold onto the memories and cherish
them. My father was younger then. I think he was happier too. He
smiled all the time in those days. I have never seen any of other
part of him. I imprinted this in my mind. My loving father always. It
was unfair. Down the line things changed too much. I'm sorry to say
that he couldn't be what I imagined him to be. But I still love
him. I've seen his soul in my memories. It was filled with
possibilities and dreams that I wish he had accomplished. I love my
father. I hate what this world has done to him.

My
father went on a slow decline. We moved out of that little trailer
house and into a different one that was a little bigger. By this time
Ida and Tynan had been born. Patrick was still waiting to be brought
into this world. It would not be until 1996 that out family would be
complete. There were four of us and that was enough for now. My dad
had managed to get a job and the casino. I remember it had just
opened and when he came home he was ecstatic. He wouldn't stop
smiling. He had gotten a job. I don't know if it was his first one.
I do know it was the only job he has had in my eighteen years of
knowing him. He made it to work everyday. He earned some employee of
the month plaques to put on the wall. He bought me a bike for my
birthday. He was doing well. I don't remember any chronological
order to all of this. I do know that it was probably a big change for
my mother and father. They were both young parents.

Things
get blurry. I think it's because I keep my good memories apart from
my bad memories. In my memories I live in two separate realities.
It's very hard to keep track of events in any particular order.
Anyway, the change from good to bad can't really be a slow
progression. I remember the good things about my father but at the
same time I remember all the bad things about him. It seemed that
when we moved into the new trailer house my father had turned into a
different person. I can remember him in my life when I was very young
but in my preteen years I can't really recall him being there. I do
remember the instances of him when he was angry. I stayed out a
couple hours past curfew at a friends house. I had to call for a ride
home. I didn't tell my parents. I stayed after school and went to
my friends house. No big deal to me. It made my parents worry. When
my mom picked me up she was disappointed. I didn't want her to be
disappointed. I knew I had done wrong. I was more afraid of what my
dad would do. When my mom and I arrived at the house my dad was
waiting. I remember he yelled at me for a very long time. I don't
know how to express the hurt I felt. I was crying. I was afraid. This
man I knew was something else. And I seen inside of the person and
there was something inside him that did not belong. It was not fully
grown but it was there. I wish I could go back now and just help my
father at that moment. I didn't know how tough things were getting.
For him it was the starting of a downward spiral. I'm sorry.

I
don't know how long my father has been drinking. It just sort of
happened. One day I knew he was drunk. The next day he wasn't. Then
he would come home drunk a few nights in a row. I don't know how
long this has been going on. I know that I had come to accept it.
This is how he is. I was young when I came to that conclusion. I
didn't know how to reflect on things. I didn't have any
philosophy or beliefs. I'm just glad that I was not closed minded.
I always observed his behavior and what affects it had on everybody
in our house. I was never afraid of him. I always had confrontations
with him. It was how I dealt with it. I yelled at him and called him
names. I knew he was drunk. I didn't care for him. One day I
realized why I act different around him when he is drunk. I realized
that he was not the same person. This thing had taken a hold of him
and wouldn't let him go. It made him into a completely different
person. It feed off of his negative energy. I wanted to destroy this
thing but I didn't know how to fight it. I felt helpless so I just
threw little stones at it hoping it would get tired of me and my
attitude and go away. It never did. It probably never will. I had to
test my limits against it. I had to confront it fully.

I
was ready when I finally confronted his demon. It was a normal day.
Everything was flowing as it always does in my house. I didn't pay
any mind to anything. I just wanted to relax. I wanted to lie on my
couch and take in the smell of my moms cooking. I was sprawled out,
shirtless, and enjoying my giant bean bag pillow.

The
living room of my house is one big room. One half is tile and that's
where the kitchen and dining table are. The other half is the living
room. Two couches sit facing towards to TV. X BOX controllers are
laying on the floor: the wires are a tangled mess.

I
hear some footsteps outside. Somebody is walking up the steps towards
the door. They stop for a moment. I sit up. My jumpiness is natural.
I'm always watching who comes in and out of the house. My
animalistic instincts are in gear when I'm at home. It's me in my
natural habitat.

The
door swings open. A rush of wind comes through the house. Papers fly
off the table. The air is cold, scentless.

"Who's
there?" I say. It's dark outside. I don't see anybody. I get up
to see who pushed the door open. A low growl comes from outside. The
voice is gravely and harsh, too much cigarettes and a lot of anger.

I pause. It's him, the Demon. I stop. I sit back down. I
know who is at the door. I say silent prayers. The prayers aren't
directed toward any kind of God. They just come out because I don't
know what else to do. I'm sick and tired of this thing coming home
and making us all miserable. It's a disease.

"Who's
yelling at me in my own damn house?" My dad stumbles in the door
with a beer in his hand. It looks like he can barely hold himself up.
He is swaying back and forth. His eyes scan the house. I don't know
what he is looking for. I don't care. I just hope he doesn't take
note of me. I'm invisible. I've learned how to mask body language
and not draw attention to myself. I do this when I don't want to
talk to him. It works. He walks over to the kitchen.

"Ida,"
he says. "What's going on?"

"What
do you mean?" She answers.

"What's
going on?"

"What
are you talking about?"

"What
is going on," He throws his hands in the air. Some of his beer
spills. "You know what I'm talking about. Where is your mom? Is
she at her boyfriend's house again?"

"What
the hell are you talking about? She doesn't have a boyfriend."
She puts two pieces of bread together and begins to walk to her room.
She has to get away. I know that she can't deal with him anymore.
He always accuses my mom of having a boyfriend. Ida is always the one
sticking up for my mom. It's because Ida is the only one that gets
asked that question.

I'm
glad it didn't escalate into a big argument. If it did I was ready
to go downstairs and let them exchange verbal blows. It never gets
physical. My dad can keep that demon from hurting anyone. But still,
words cut inside of our souls. I've got to many scars and fresh
scrapes that still haven't healed.

I hear Ida's door close. I just sit silently, not moving my eyes or
showing any discomfort.

My apathy for what's around me keeps me safe. If I don't care
then why bother talking to me? He sits down on the other couch. My
two little brothers come from the backroom. Go back you
dumb-asses. I watch them go into the kitchen. They start making
roast beef sandwiches. I can smell it. I want to get up and make one
but I don't want to move. It's like a fly that knows he is caught
in a web. I'm going to have to move sooner or later.

"Hey,
watch it! That was my bread!" Tynan and Patrick begin to argue.

"Well
I didn't know," Says Patrick. "Here, have it back."

"I
don't want it. You already put your germs on it!"

"Your
getting all mad about it, take it."

My
dad stands up. He growls again. I flinch.

"Tynan
come here." He says. "You shouldn't be mean to your little
brother. When me and Chip were growing up we always looked out for
each other. We never fought. Too many people were trying to fight us.
You're lucky you don't have to grow up in Denver, living in a
bar, and having to protect your brother form getting beat up because
he had red hair. You know what? You're all just little brats. You
whine all the time. 'I can't play my mintendo. Steve's picking
on me.' Suck it up. Be a Marine! Go and give your life to save
others. Have courage and honor. You little shits don't know
anything. I'm sick of talking to you. Phillip, come here."

"What."
I say.

"What
do you mean what?"

"Nothing."

"You
never mean anything."

He
started getting on my case. I don't know remember what he said and
I don't want to remember. I just know that I lashed back at him,
and my struggle with the demon began.

"I'm
tired of this shit! Leave! Nobody wants you here," I wasn't
talking to my dad. "All you do is cause misery. You say things that
hurt all of us. You accuse of us things we didn't do. I don't
care if you grew up in a bar or had to fight during your childhood.
My two little brothers have this life. I want them to enjoy it!
You're making things difficult."

With
every word it stepped back until I had it against the door. My words
kept coming. The truth broke out and all the things that should have
been let go were remembered. Nothing was forgiven. I was attacking it
directly now. I opened the door and told it to leave and never come
back.

And
then it did something I never expected it to do. It left. I saw my
dad looking at me through his own eyes. Tears were coming out. I
started to tear up. My dad was actually here. I remember I loved him.
I wanted to save him. This was my chance.

"I'm
trying Phillip. I want to stop. I've tried rehab once and it didn't
work. I try to stop. I can't Phillip. I can't do it."

"Yes
you can. Just say you're going to quit. Have the casino help you.
People know you there. We'll help you too. I just don't want to
lose you. Please, that's all I ask is that you try. Even if you
fail I want you to try."

The
whole family was behind me. I didn't notice them until Ida spoke
up.

"Yeah,
Dad," She was sobbing too. "Try to quit drinking."

He
looked at me for the longest time. I could see into his soul again. I
remembered when he was happier. I remembered how he always used to
smile. It pained me to see him underneath all this pressure. I knew I
could help him. I could save him from this demon that has held him
for so long.

"Dad,"
I say. "We love you."

He
breaks eye contact with me. When he looks up me again I know I've
lost. His words just confirm it.

"I'm
an alcoholic, Phil. I can't quit." And it was him talking. The
demon had not come back. He had sealed his own fate.

I
left. I went into my bedroom and lied down.

Then
the tears came. From nowhere they started running down my face. I
quaked. Then I started crying silently. Waves of unheard sobs shook
me. When I stopped crying I felt better. There was nothing wrong
anymore. The world didn't need to be fixed, I needed to adjust. My
will isn't strong enough to move people. I gave up and feel asleep.
I never bother to think about it until now. And that's what
happened.

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